


The Matter of Soulmates

by sunkelles



Series: Femslash February 2015 [15]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:19:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a person's twelfth name day, the name of their soulmate appears on their wrist. </p><p>Sansa's just happens to be Daenerys Targaryen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic will be about Sansa and Dany, but I'm considering writing a companion piece or two in this verse about other couples *cough* arya/gendry *cough* 
> 
> I'm not swearing that's going to happen, though. Don't hold me to that.

Her mother runs the brush softly through her hair. 

  
“Your soulmate’s name will appear on your wrist on the road,” her mother tells her. Sansa has been anxiously awaiting this moment for years, when she would find out what gallant knight or handsome lord she was destined to marry. She knew, of course, that most people could not end up wedding their soulmates. That seemed unlikely to a young girl with her head caught in the songs, though. But now that she’s betrothed, she can feel doubt sprouting in her mind. What if her soulmate isn’t Joffrey?  
“Write me a letter with their name,” her mother says, though there’s something terribly sad in her eyes, knowing she won’t be there to see her daughter’s true love manifest on her wrist.

  
“I hope it’s Joffrey,” she says, with a giddy voice and smiling eyes. She pushes her worries away. Joffrey is her handsome prince; of course he’s her soulmate. That’s the way it always goes in the songs.

  
Her mother, ever pragmatic, tells her, “I wish that for you too, but it’s incredibly unlikely. You’re likely to never even meet your soulmate.” Sansa knows that her mother had the name of some lowborn lad, and her father had a name that was distinctly Essosi. They weren’t soulmates, but they were still able to make it work. Maybe she and Joffrey will be able to as well. Her mother looks away from her, back to her broken brother lying on his head.  
Sansa grasps Bran’s hand. 

“Will he ever wake up?” she asks. Her mother flinches as she looks from her son to her daughter.

  
“Gods willing, Sansa,” she says. Her mother kisses her softly on the forehead and Sansa wraps her arms around her.

“I’ll miss you,” she says, and her mother almost cracks a smile, but there’s a deep sadness in her eyes. Sansa supposes she can’t blame her. She’s as good as lost three children. She deepens the hug, one that might be the last they share for years, and she kisses her mother on the cheek.

  
“I should go pack,” Sansa says, breaking away from the hug. 

Her mother’s voice is thick as she says, “you should.” Sansa tries to push her thoughts of her mother and brother away as she goes to pack her things.

 

She hums a cheerful tune as she skips through the familiar halls of Winterfell, day-dreaming of opulent palaces and Southron fashion.

* * *

 

 

  
Sansa softly strokes Lady’s fur. 

She awakens half-way through the night of her name day, and she stumbles into the well-lit halls of castle Darry, followed dutifully by Lady. She sneaks a glance at her wrist, and she feels something strange pass through her as she reads the name “Daenerys Targaryen” written on her wrist in a flowing, cursive script.

  
Her soulmate is a woman. She’s heard of some lords letting their children marry their same-sex soulmate if it was politically beneficial, but it’s rare. 

The only ones in living memory were the wedding of a Florent woman to a Frey woman and the marriage of Renly Baratheon to Loras Tyrell. 

The other significant part is that her soulmate is a Targaryen. Sansa runs her fingers over the delicate, black cursive. The Targaryens were overthrown before her birth. She had told herself that her soulmate didn’t matter, that she wouldn’t care whose name was emblazoned across her wrist, unless of course, it was Joffrey’s. Then she would be pleasantly surprised.

  
She is unfaithful to her promise. All she really wants is to meet this Daenerys Targaryen. It’s halfway through the night, and she wants to tear the world apart searching. She starts with her father’s room. 

* * *

 

 

She staggers into her father’s room at Castle Darry in the wee hours of the morning. 

  
He awakens, groggily, to the sight of his daughter in her light blue night gown, clutching her wrist softly. 

  
“Sansa,” he mumbles. 

“I thought the Targaryens were dead,” she says suddenly, unable to curb her tongue another moment.

“Sansa, what are you talking about?” He asks, until remembering that it is his daughter’s twelfth name day. 

“Sansa,” he says softly, “show me your wrist.” Sansa holds out her wrist for him to see. His eyes widen as he reads the name scrawled there. 

“You can’t let anyone see,” he tells her frantically. 

“But father,” she says, “what about Jeyne? What about Daenerys?” She wants to meet her soulmate, wants to meet the woman that she is destined to love. Soulmate marks don’t lie. 

Soulmates don’t always meet, but they are the best match in the world for each other. That is how the gods designed it. They wanted to give their children their best shot at love. 

“Gods willing,” he says, “you shall never meet her.” 

“But father-” 

“The princess Daenerys is across the Narrow Sea,” he says, “let us pray she stays there.” Sansa sends him a confused look. 

“You are still betrothed to Joffrey,” he says, and it sounds like a death sentence. 

“Oh,” Sansa says, and she looks back to her wrist. Somehow, marrying the gallant prince does not seem so appealing when she has a beautiful princess across the sea. “But why must I hide it?” She asks. She knows that most same-sex soulmates are not permitted to wed, but that does not mean that they hide them. There are plenty of serving girls and stable boys who are not shy about their same-sex soulmate. 

“Your soulmate is a Targaryen,” he says softly, “they might have you killed for a traitor.” Sansa wants to protest, wants to say that Joffrey would not do that because though he is not her soulmate, he is still golden and gallant and good, but she remembers a story she’d heard of the war. 

King Robert was good too, but he did nothing after Ser Gregor Clegane smashed the Targaryen children’s heads in. 

“Alright, father,” she says, “I will not tell.” He breaths an audible sigh of relief and drags his daughter in for a hug. 

“I’m so sorry, Sansa,” he says. Sansa lets out a shaky breath.

For the first time in her life, Sansa Stark is afraid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the second chapter of this thing finally happened. I hope that you guys enjoy it

The war rages on. Renly Bartheon was sent to his grave months ago, and Stannis Baratheon is off licking his wounds. But her brother’s army fights the Lannister host to the North. The Greyjoys trouble both of them, and somewhere to far to the East, Daenerys Targaryen lives. Rumor has it that she has dragons. Rumor has it that she’s conquered Astapor. Sansa tries not to let herself become too hopeful, because rumor is seldom accurate.

Rumor also said that the Lannisters would crush all resistance within the first three months.

 

In King’s Landing, Sansa’s life remains much the same. She is no longer betrothed to Joffrey, but that does not mean that he’s started to leave her alone. He still torments her, and she still has to worry about hiding the name written across her wrist. Sansa has to spend much more time at court than she would like, smiling at parties, attending to the king’s whims, and reminding the population of King’s Landing that the Lannisters still have a Stark hostage. At least she is sometimes able to escape to the Godswood.

 

The queen requests her company often, so it is not strange when she asks her to take a walk. Sansa wishes for nothing more than to throw herself out the window, but she sends the woman a feigned smile and follows her through the halls of the castle. As always, they are followed closely by guards. The queen speaks, her words honey-sweet in the way that keeps Sansa constantly on edge. She scratches an itch on wrist, and realizes her mistake a moment too late.

The light blue sleeve of her dress slides back, revealing her soulmate mark.  She quickly slides her sleeve back down, but it’s too late. She’s piqued the interest of the queen.

“Oh you have no need to fear, little dove,” she says, sending Sansa a false, patronizing smile.

“I don’t care about whatever Lowborn boy your heart should belong to,” She says, “I just want to see.”  

“Your Grace,” Sansa says as fear floods into her voice. Cersei ignores her, and rips her sleeve back. The look of shock on her face is enough for Sansa to know she’s seen the name written there.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Cersei says, in a frantic whisper. Sansa says a silent, panicked prayer, to whatever gods might care to listen.

“Guards,” Cersei nearly shouts. The guards descend on her before she even has time to scream. The guards grip her harshly by her forearms as they drag her backwards. She feels tears welling in her eyes, and tries to will them back.

The queen wants her dead now. The rumors of Daenerys and her dragons have already spread to the Seven Kingdoms, and they say she plans to try to take them back. Daenerys Targaryen is becoming a contender for The Iron Throne; the name written across Sansa’s wrist is as good as an act of treason. 

Sansa’s fear courses through her veins as they drag her to a cell.

 

The days blur by in the darkness. She wonders if she’ll ever see the sun again. Perhaps this is what the queen has devised for her, to stay, forever forgotten, underground. Until she dies, of course. Then she’ll be both dead _and_ forgotten. Sansa pushes the thought away, and always herself to think of the rose-tinted world of her songs. She laughs bitterly as she cries into her pillow, cursing her own naivety.

 As she fades into sleep, her dreams are not of fair knights, but of a fair haired woman with lilac eyes, riding astride an enormous dragon. When she wakes, Sansa gently rubs the soft skin of her wrist, starring longingly at the name on her wrist. She prays for liberation.

 

They come for her what may be days or may be weeks later. Her cell is so far underground that she can’t see the sun. She knows that she’s slept more than a few times down here, but that doesn’t mean much. There isn’t much to do in a jail cell other than sleep. Her eyes hurt as she sees the sunlight again. The light is nearly blinding after so long spent in the absolute darkness. After a few minutes, though, the sunlight seems normal. Her eyes do not feel like they are burning out of her sockets.

Sansa looks to the gold cloaks grasping her arms.

“Am I to be executed?” she asks in her slight daze. Her eyes might have readjusted to the sunlight, but she has not adjusted to being away from her cell. She needs to at least know why she’s been allowed to leave.

“You’re to be wed, m’ lady,” one of them says with a mocking grin.

“To whom?” Sansa asks, fear pooling in her belly. Sansa before her, and sees a familiar door. She’s nearly to the small, family sept that the royal family uses.

_Wed,_ she thinks, _I’m to be wed._ Her head hurts as does her stomach.

“The Imp,” he says with a sadistic grin as he shoves Sansa through the door to the entrance to the sept.

 

The king, the queen, and the Imp all stand in the entry way of the sept, clad in their greatest finery. Sansa realizes that they expect her to wed  _right now._ Her hair is a knotted bramble-bush, she reeks of dungeon, and her dress is a crumpled wreck. What a lovely bride she must look. 

"You should be grateful," Joffrey drawls, "My grandfather convinced me not to lop off your head. You are to wed my uncle Tyrion instead."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sansa murmurs in response. 

"You should count yourself very lucky," the queen says with a tight little smile, "That my son decided to give you a Lannister husband instead of taking off your head." Her betrothed looks incredibly uncomfortable. Sansa suspects that he is no more pleased by this match than she is. He looks as if he is grasping for words, and he eventually finds them. He sends her a self-deprecating grin.

“I hope that I’m a better option than death,” her husband jokes, but there’s enough insecurity in his eyes that Sansa thinks he’s trying to convince himself of that. She supposes that he’s right, though. If they hadn’t decided to wed her to Tyrion, then she would be dead. 

“Will you wed me?” he asks, a hopeful quality to his tone. He wants her to reassure him, but she doesn’t feel like offering him her reassurances. He’s a better option than death, but she didn’t want this. She didn’t _choose_ this. She wants to say that she doesn’t have a choice, but she decides against it. She still doesn't want to die. 

“Aye,” she replies, “I will.” He can tell what she means without her having to say the words. He looks embarrassed and saddened. Sansa supposes she should comfort him, but she can’t muster up enough energy to care. She thinks something inside of her might have hardened in the cells. The maids drag her off to do her hair and put her in something presentable. Traitor’s daughter with a Queen for a soulmate or not, Sansa Stark is still to wed a Lannister. They care enough to make her look important.

Sansa doesn’t care enough to fight.


	3. Chapter 3

The rumors of Daenerys Targaryen start as a trickle, but they quickly turn into a torrent. Some of the tales say that she is a blood-thirsty beast of a woman, half dragon herself, and madder even than her father. Some say that she is a woman of legendary beauty and strategic ability. They all say that she has dragons, and they all agree that she is conquering her way through Slaver’s Bay. Most say that she plans to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Mayhap Sansa should not take as much comfort in this as she does. She has never met the woman, and for all she knows, she might be the blood-thirsty beast that some tales make her out to be. The woman’s name is still scrawled across her wrist, and she is not a Lannister. These reasons alone give Sansa cause enough to hope.

 

 

Her good family shows her nothing but insults and cold glares, though she does not know it it is because of her soulmate or because of her seemingly barren womb. She doesn’t particularly care. The name written across her wrist is the only thing that has gotten her through her time in King’s Landing. She will not be ungrateful for it now.

 

 

Sansa expects that her dragon queen to arrive in King’s Landing. She does _not_ expect the Red Wedding. The only thing that Tyrion explicitly tells her is that her mother and brother were murdered by the Freys at her uncle Edmure’s wedding. The rumor mill claims that they sewed Grey Wind’s head on Robb’s decapitated body. It claims that they floated her mother’s corpse down the river, and some bold souls say that life sprouted once again in her body, and she is now seeking revenge throughout the Riverlands. Her eyes water and her throat hurts every time she hears the whispers, and every time that she hears people giggling near her. She cries her eyes out in the godswood, but wears her mask outside of it.

She may not have to, one day. One day, she may be able to make them all pay.

 

 

She and Tyrion normally break their fasts in silence. She wonders how many married couples have ended up even unhappier than them. She certainly does not envy those special few.

Tyrion breaks their silence that morning abruptly. Sansa is almost frightened by the sound of his voice.

“They say that your soulmate is on her way to Westeros,” Tyrion tells her. Sansa does not bother to look up from her food.

“I’m not japing,” he promises, “the dragon queen conquered Norvos. It won’t be long before she crosses the Narrow Sea.”

Her throat is suddenly as dry as the Dornish desert.

“You’re joking with me,” she says softly.

“No,” he says, “I promise you, I’m not. I would not do that to you.” She does not know how to respond, and an awkward silence follows. Tyrion waits a while before he breaks it.

“You might ask her to spare me, though,” he says, and Sansa honestly cannot tell whether or not he’s japing this time, “The dragon queen has no love for Lannisters, but she will probably listen to you.”

“I’ll consider it, husband,” she says, almost teasingly. But this causes a new sort of hope to course through her. She wishes by the old gods and the new by the old gods and the new that her soulmate will hurry up.

 

 

The city is ablaze with the gossip. Daenerys Targaryen has conquered Norvos, and will soon cross the Narrow Sea. The dragon queen is coming for them, with fire and blood, and Sansa is as giddy as a girl on her name day. She thinks that even if the woman weren’t her soulmate, that she still would have anxiously awaited her arrival. Daenerys Targaryen means the downfall of Joffrey and Cersei and possibly her salvation.

They call her the Breaker of Chains.

Maybe she’ll finally break Sansa’s.

 

 

The Lannisters assume that she will conquer Braavos and then sail straight to King’s Landing. They assume that they will have time to prepare a defense effort. They assume wrong. Daenerys lands in Dorne before the Lannisters even know the Dornish were plotting. Sansa almost can’t suppress her grin.

 

 

“Alert the Reachmen,” Cersei tells her councilmembers, “I want a defense force stationed at the Prince’s Pass.” Sansa knows what the queen plans to do. She means to trap the Dragon Queen before she can even arrive in King’s Landing.

Sansa prays to both the old gods and the new that either Daenerys or her Dornish allies will see that coming.

 

 

Daenerys fools the Lannisters. To be more accurate, Daenerys fools everyone. The Dornish build enough ships to supplement the Targaryen fleet, and they attack King’s Landing by sea. No one expected that the Dothraki would ever cross the Narrow Sea, and no one ever expected that Dornish would ever rebuild their navy. Sansa thinks that this is due to a lack of foresight, but she can’t say for certain. She is grateful for it nonetheless.

 

 

It’s almost like the Battle of the Blackwater when Daenerys’s forces descend on them. Except this time, the Lannisters aren’t prepared. They have no cases of wildfire ready for her, but that does not mean there are fewer flames. Daenerys is the Mother of Dragons, after all.

Cersei gathers the women and children in the same room where they weathered the Battle of the Blackwater, and Sansa tries to soothe the people once again. Cersei drinks and drinks as Sansa tries to rally them behind Daenerys’s cause. Perhaps it’s foolish, but part of her is still the little girl who listened to her songs and believed that soulmate marks meant true love and eternal happiness. She’ll do what she can to help her soulmate, even if she’s never met the woman, even though she might not be the savior she has imagined.

“The rightful queen has come to take Westeros back,” Sansa Stark tells them, her voice loud and confident. A few of them blink, and one servant woman glares at her.

“The mad king’s daughter ain’t no queen of mine,” she shouts.

“Daenerys is not like her father,” Sansa says, though she can only hope the words are true, “She has freed slaves, conquered kingdoms, and ruled wisely. They say she is quite compassionate.”

“Why should we trust you?” a woman asks, “you’ve got her name writ cross your wrist.”  Sansa knows that all of the people in this room must already know that. She doubts if there is a soul in the Red Keep that _doesn’t_ about the name written across her wrist. She has been quite the topic of gossip for much of her time here.

“Yeah,” a little boy shouts, “Why should we trust the dragon queen’s whore!”

“I have heard the stories of her compassion,” Sansa assures him. His words fall of her like water.

“I feel that she will rule justly and wisely,” she says, and she grins as she adds, “A wise and just ruler is something that King’s Landing has sorely lacked for a long time.” The drunken queen finally rises from her seat at this, and she grabs her roughly by the shoulders. Her grip is not all that steady, though, because the woman has already drunk half of the wine that she had the servants cart into the room.

“I can have you killed,” she grinds out, and Sansa almost smiles at her. Daenerys and her victory are approaching, and Sansa is fairly safe.

“I would not want to be the one to tell the woman with dragons that I killed her soulmate,” Sansa tells Cersei. Cersei shrieks, but pushes her away.

“You say that she’ll be better,” another voice says, “but how do you know? You haven’t even met her.”

“I don’t know,” Sansa says, “But I hope. And I know that right now, you are starving. Any compassionate queen will at least _try_ to remedy that.” Her words soothe the crowd a little, and Sansa can hear the battle quieting down outside. The siege is ending, and Daenerys is winning. The people quiet, and they remain so for the next few hours. There isn’t much else that anyone _can_ say.

 

 

None of their words will change the outcome now. Most fall asleep before Daenerys enters, a conquering queen finally looking upon her subjects. Her silver-gold hair falls midway down her back, and her violet eyes shimmer like gemstones. She does not look much older than Sansa, though. She must be fifteen, sixteen at the most, and she has already done so much. Sansa feels her heart flutter.

A small, dark-skinned girl quickly starts listing off her titles. Daenerys ignores the rest of the room as she looks to Sansa. The queen’s violet eyes bore into Sansa’s soul.

“Sansa?” She asks, and Sansa’s heart lights up as she nods. Her soulmate holds out her wrist. Sansa smiles softly, and holds out her own wrist in turn. Then, the fierce queen sweeps her into a hug.

“I won’t let them hurt you anymore,” Daenerys says, and Sansa feels tears prickle at her eyes.

She almost trusts this woman, and she likes to think that one day she might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS, EVERYONE!!! This is the end of the story. I considered adding outtakes before, but it's been so long now (I am making this edit in May 2016 and finished the story in April of 2015) so that will not be happening. Sorry guys
> 
> And once again, thank you for your support. I hope that everyone enjoyed this.


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